Page 134 of The Sound Between Us

34

the reckoning

Seren

Harrison looks like a Renaissance painting when he sleeps. I’ve been awake for the better part of an hour, watching the early morning Tokyo light play across his face.

His hair is messed from sleep, dark curls falling across his forehead. His mouth is slightly open, breathing deep and even. I almost don’t want to disturb it.

Almost.

But my stomach growls, loud enough that I’m surprised it doesn’t wake him. The kind of hungry that makes you contemplate whether room service counts as a life skill.

I slip out of bed carefully, trying not to jostle the mattress. He’s earned this sleep—last night left us both raw and breathless.

The hotel robe is absurdly luxurious, thick terry cloth, and I wrap it around myself before padding toward the door. The marble floor is cold beneath my bare feet, a sharp contrast to the warmth of Harrison’s body still radiating from the bed behind me.

The restaurant is nearly empty at this hour, which suits me perfectly. A few business travellers hunched over laptops, blue light casting shadows under their eyes. Some tourists study guidebooks, pages rustling as they flip between recommendations. The hostess leads me to a quiet table by the window, where I can watch Tokyo wake up.

Eggs.

I reckon eggs are a fearless kind of breakfast.

The city stretches endlessly below, a living circuit board of glass and steel catching the first rays of sunlight. Cars move through arteries of concrete. Horns honk in the distance. Construction crews are already at work, the faint sound of machinery drifting up even to this height.

I’m settling into my chair when I remember Henry’s text. We need to talk.

My stomach drops. I glance around the restaurant, wondering if I can slip back upstairs and order my not-so-fearless eggs as room service.

That’s when I see him. Corner table. Clear view of the entrance. Nursing a hot drink, his hands trembling slightly as he lifts the cup.

Henry notices me the exact moment I notice him.

Bollocks.

I consider my options: bolt for the lifts, claim sudden food poisoning and retreat to the safety of the hotel room, or face whatever conversation he’s clearly been waiting to have.

The problem with running is that Henry has definitely seen me, and cowardice would only delay whatever unpleasantness he has planned.

So I smile politely and make my way over, settling across from him. My hands shake as I pull the robe tighter around myself.

“Seren.” His voice is honey over steel. “Good morning. I was hoping we’d have a chance to chat.”

“Were you?” I keep my voice light. “How serendipitous.”

The server appears with the efficiency of expensive hotels, and I order coffee because I definitely need it.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you were absolutely magnetic the other night. I’d have told you yesterday, but I couldn’t find you two lovebirds anywhere.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “That performance—I’ve been in this industry for twenty years, and I rarely see that kind of natural stage presence.”

“Thank you.” I shift in my seat. Why did I think breakfast in a robe was a good idea?

“Have you given any thought to the future? Professionally, I mean. After the other night, after that response...” He spreads his hands. “The phone’s going to start ringing.”

I laugh, though nothing about this feels amusing. “Henry, my dad has his own label.”

“Yes, but you don’t want to give him all the control, do you?” His smile sharpens. “What happens the next time he pisses you off? What happens when his vision doesn’t align with yours?”

I don’t answer, partly because I haven’t thought that far ahead and partly because the bastard has a point. Dad and I have managed exactly one extended period of getting along, and that’s largely because I’ve been three thousand miles away.